


Need to Know

by sahiya



Series: Shattuck-St. Mary's Kane/Toews AU [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Car Accidents, Coming Out, Head Injury, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10488156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: Patrick was going to strangle Jonny with his bare hands. Gently.Verygently, because he didn’t want to reinjure Jonny’s stupidconcussedbrain. But he was definitely going to kill him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saudades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saudades/gifts).



> This was written for saudades as part of what I've decided to call my "2017 Fuck Trump H/C Bingo Fundraiser."
> 
> Basically, I created and posted a [custom h/c Bingo card](http://sahiya.dreamwidth.org/736914.html). In exchange for a small donation to an organization working against Trump's agenda, I am happy to write you a hurt/comfort fic based on one of the prompts. I'm offering hockey and Avengers fandoms; see the post for further details and to see which prompts are still available. I don't allow anonymous posting on my Dreamwidth, but you are welcome to comment here with your request.
> 
> Suggested organizations include: Planned Parenthood, the International Rescue Committee, ProPublica or the Center for Investigative Journalism, Emily's List, the Sierra Club or the Environmental Defense Fund, the Trevor Project, the Committee on American-Islamic Relations, and of course the ACLU (though they are rolling in it and I'm kind of inclined to encourage people to give to organizations that didn't raise $24M in one weekend). 
> 
> Thanks to Miri Thompson for looking this over and giving me the thumbs up! It's much appreciated.

Patrick was going to kill him. 

He was going to strangle him with his bare hands. Gently. _Very_ gently, because he didn’t want to reinjure Jonny’s stupid _concussed_ brain. But he was definitely going to kill him. 

He’d found out from fucking Twitter about the car accident and almost gotten into one himself getting to the emergency room. It was only when he’d stepped up to talk to the nurse and gotten totally stonewalled that he’d realized: no one was going to tell him anything. 

“No, I’m not – I’m not a _fan_ ,” he’d tried to tell the nurse, hoping he didn’t sound half as desperate as he felt. He didn’t dare take his hoodie off. There’d been fans at the crash site, for fuck’s sake, and he didn’t know how many of them might’ve followed Jonny here. “I’m not a stalker, I’m his teammate, I’m his – I’m his friend, I’m –”

“Mr. Kane,” she’d said, very gently, the way you talked to crazy people and, Patrick guessed, distraught boyfriends of car accident victims, “I know who you are. I understand. But you’re not a member of Mr. Toews’s family, and the law prohibits me from telling you anything.”

It was a bucket of cold water right over Patrick’s head. He’d reeled back as though she’d slapped him and turned away blindly. 

_Fuck_ , someone was going to take photos of him if he stood here much longer. In the goddamn ER. He couldn’t just stay here. But he also couldn’t leave, not until he knew that Jonny was okay.

God only knew how long Patrick might’ve stood there, waffling, if Coach Q and the team physician, Dr. Terry, hadn’t walked in right then. “Kaner,” Q said, pulling up short. The doc raised his eyebrows at Patrick but went up to the counter to speak to the nurse. 

“What are you doing here?” Q asked. 

“I read about the accident on Twitter,” Patrick said. His eyes were hot and his throat was tight, and he felt about three seconds away from bursting into tears, but he wouldn’t. He _wouldn’t_. No one knew about them. _Still_. Patrick had wanted to come out the summer after the Cup, but Jonny had wanted to wait until the contracts were signed and they couldn’t trade one of them away, and now no one fucking knew. “They won’t – they won’t tell me anything.”

“Kaner, it’s okay,” Q said, reaching out to squeeze Patrick’s arm. “It’s gonna be okay. They said he was conscious at the scene.”

Patrick nodded tightly, even though Q didn’t know, couldn’t know, if everything was really all right. Because Patrick knew without having to wait for a diagnosis that Jonny had a concussion and probably had had one for weeks now, and he knew enough about concussions to know that no one really _knew_ anything, and sometimes it wasn’t all right. 

“Okay,” Terry said, appearing at Q’s shoulder. “They said he’s conscious and coherent.”

“Can I see him?” Patrick asked, much too quickly. 

Terry held up his hand. “Let me go back and see him first. Go get a cup of coffee with Coach, all right? Decaf,” he amended with a sharp look. 

Patrick guessed he looked like he was about to vibrate right out of his skin. He nodded. Q dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder and steered him toward the exit, while the doc headed in the other direction, back to see Jonny. 

It was easier to breathe just not being in the ER. Patrick took a couple of gulps of air, glad for it, but then he couldn’t seem to stop. “Shit,” he heard Q say, distantly, and then he was pushed down into a chair. Someone shoved his head down between his knees and told him to breathe, which was fucking stupid, because Patrick _was_ breathing, he was breathing way too fucking much, he couldn’t _stop breathing._

Fuck, if they would just let him _see Jonny_ –

But he couldn’t see Jonny like this, he realized. When he saw Jonny, he was going to have to have his shit together. He was going to kill him with his bare hands, Patrick reminded himself, because Jonny had lied to him. Patrick had asked him yesterday if he was all right, because something had been off and he’d known it, he’d felt it, and Jonny had said he was fine, had called him a worry-wort, had gotten annoyed about it. 

It was easier to get his breathing under control while thinking about how pissed he was at Jonny for straight-up lying to him. After a couple of minutes, Patrick was able to sit up. Someone handed him a glass of water, and Patrick looked up to see a nurse in scrubs and Q both looking down at him. Beyond them were a couple of security guards, which seemed like overkill, until Patrick realized –

“Oh fuck, there’s gonna be so many pictures of this on the internet,” he groaned. He swiped at his face and his hand came away wet with tears and snot. Q handed him an honest-to-God handkerchief. Patrick blew his nose. 

“Feeling better?” the nurse asked kindly. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Patrick said, flushing. He balled the handkerchief up and stuff it in his pocket. 

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen someone have a panic attack because someone they loved was in a car accident.”

“Um,” Patrick said, glancing at Q. Q hadn’t even blinked. 

“You eaten today?” was all Q asked. 

Patrick frowned. “Eggs at breakfast? It's been a few hours. Jonny and I were gonna get lunch.”

The nurse nodded. “Your blood sugar probably bottomed out because of the stress. Get some food into you and you’ll feel better. I could get you some juice?”

“Nah, I’ll take him down to the cafeteria, get him some real food,” Q said. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” she said, and left, taking the security guards with her. 

There really weren’t that many people staring, Patrick thought with surprised relief. He’d gone down in a little alcove full of chairs and not much else, and he guessed most people in a hospital had bigger things to worry about than whether that guy falling apart in the corner was actually Patrick Kane or just looked a lot like him. 

He might get out of this with his dignity intact, he thought. Except for the part where Q had totally seen him lose it.

Q didn’t say much as they headed down to the cafeteria. He bought Patrick a turkey sandwich and a protein shake and then sat there and watched him eat most of the sandwich without saying anything. He didn’t say a word, in fact, until Patrick crumpled up the wrapper and broke open his shake. 

“So,” Q said then, “my wife says I’m pretty good at not knowing what I don’t want to know. Comes from raising two daughters.”

“Mmm?” Patrick said around a mouthful of protein shake, because what the hell was he supposed to say to that?

“The last couple of years,” Q continued, “since I got here pretty much, there’ve been things I’ve been pretty careful at not knowing about you and Jonny.”

Patrick put the cap on his shake. “Yeah,” he said, figuring there was no point in denying any of it. 

“Not because I don’t care,” Q added, “and not because I disapprove, though I guess if you’d asked me if I wanted my captain and my star winger to be – well.” He cleared his throat. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. But in two years I’ve never seen it affect the team, and it’s your business.”

“Thank you,” Patrick said stiffly. He thought about ending the conversation then, just getting up and heading upstairs to see Jonny, but his curiosity got the better of him. “Why not know, then?”

Q shrugged. “Easier for you, easier for me. Meant I didn’t have to decide what to tell Stan and the rest of management. Besides, I figured that if you wanted me to know, you would tell me”

Patrick nodded. “A few people on the team know. Seabs, Duncs, Sharpy.”

Q nodded. “That’s good.”

Patrick looked away. “Are you – what are you going to do? Now that you know?”

Q sighed. “I can’t pretend I don’t know, Kaner. It’s one thing for the team to keep your secret, but that’s not how it is for me. Now that I know, Stan has to know. And I think he’d prefer hearing it from you.”

Patrick sighed. At least that did it as far as telling management. And depending on what photos ended up online, it might do it as far as telling the rest of the world, too. 

“You don’t have to do it today, though,” Q said. “Tomorrow’s good enough. Or the day after, even.”

Patrick nodded. He sucked in a breath. “I’m glad you know,” he muttered. “And I don’t mind Stan knowing, or whoever else we have to tell. It was awful to think that – that no one knew I should know –” Patrick had to stop and swallow painfully. “We’ve been together six years, and I found out he was hurt because of Twitter. And he _lied_ to me.”

Q winced. “He might not have lied.”

“I asked him yesterday if he was all right,” Patrick insisted. “He looked me in the eye and told me he was fine.” 

“He might’ve thought he was,” Q replied. “You ever had a concussion?” 

Patrick shook his head. 

“They’re funny things. Sometimes you don’t know you’ve got one right away. And they mess with your judgment something fierce. I’m just saying,” he added, holding his hands up to cut Patrick off, “go easy on him, all right?”

Patrick snapped his jaw shut. “Yeah,” he muttered, “okay.”

Q’s phone buzzed and he glanced at it. “Terry says he’s ready for us,” he reported. It buzzed again. “And Jonny wants ginger ale.”

That, at least, was something Patrick could do. He dutifully bought two bottles of Canada Dry before heading back to the ER with Q. 

They’d moved Jonny out of the ER and into a private room. They weren’t planning to keep him overnight, Terry assured Patrick, but they wanted him to be in a dark, quiet environment for a few hours before going home, and ER’s were no good for that. Patrick was just relieved he wasn’t going to have to put on a show in front of a bunch of other patients.

Patrick hovered in the doorway as Q went in to see him with Terry. Jonny looked pale and exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes. He looked bad, but he’d _been_ looking bad for a while now, Patrick thought, and was pissed at himself all over again for not having pushed harder just yesterday. But of course, if Jonny hadn’t been fucking lying to him the entire time, he wouldn’t have had to push to begin with. 

Jonny’s eyes found his, even while Q was talking to him, telling him he was going to be out a while, and he needed to work with the doctors and be honest with them about how he was feeling. Jonny nodded and finally tore his gaze away from Patrick’s to look at Q. 

“I didn’t know,” he said. “I knew I felt like shit, but I thought – I don’t know what I thought. It seems obvious now.”

“I asked you,” Patrick said. 

“I know,” Jonny said, looking at him. “Patrick –” 

“I _asked_ you,” Patrick repeated. 

He felt, more than saw, Q and Terry exchange a look. Patrick took a deep breath and stepped away, outside the room altogether. He leaned against the wall and pulled out his phone. His parents had texted him, demanding updates. Seabs and Duncs and Sharpy had all texted him, demanding updates. _Jonny’s_ parents had texted, demanding updates. Patrick spent a couple minutes texting them back, letting them know everything was okay – mostly – and promising, in some cases, that Jonny would call them later. 

He was a little calmer by the time he was done. He was just slipping his phone back in his pocket when Q and Terry came out. 

“Everything okay, Kaner?” Q asked him. 

Patrick shrugged. “Yeah. Just...texting Jonny’s family. And my family.”

Q nodded. “They want to keep Jonny for a few hours but they should let him go later. You know the drill – no screens and low light, at least until his symptoms improve.”

“I’ve written him a prescription for Imitrex, a migraine medication that can help with concussion-related headaches,” Terry said. “You can pick that up in the pharmacy here in the hospital any time before you go.”

Patrick nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You need anything, don’t hesitate to call,” Q said. 

“And I’ll be over to see Jonny tomorrow morning,” Terry added. “But you have my number.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “Of course.”

They left. Patrick swallowed hard, once, and went back into Jonny’s room. 

Jonny had his eyes closed, but he slitted them open as Patrick came in. He visibly winced at the light from the hallway, so Patrick closed the door. It still wasn’t totally dark – there was light filtering in through the blinds and the transom above the door – but it was much closer. 

Jonny didn’t say anything. Patrick started to sit down in one of the bedside chairs and then decided that was too far away from Jonny just then. He sat down on the edge of the bed instead, and Jonny rolled onto his side, curling around Patrick’s hip. “How are you feeling?” Patrick asked. 

“Bad.” Jonny fumbled for Patrick’s hand, and Patrick took it, squeezing his fingers. “Pat – fuck, Patrick, I’m so sorry.”

His voice wavered. Patrick’s heart broke, despite how fucking pissed he still was. “Shh,” he murmured, brushing the hair back from Jonny’s forehead.

“No, but – Q told me you found out from Twitter, and they wouldn’t let you see me. I swear I didn’t lie to you, I didn’t _know_ –”

“Or you didn’t want to know,” Patrick said flatly. 

Jonny’s mouth snapped shut. 

“I asked you if you were okay. You didn’t say, _I feel like shit and I don’t know why_. You said you were fine.”

“I know,” Jonny said softly. “I know, I just – shit, Patrick, my season –”

“Fuck your season,” Patrick said fiercely. “Jesus Christ, Jonny, you could have _died_. And it’s your _brain_. It’s...” Patrick broke off, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “It’s not just hockey. It’s everything that comes after, too. It’s our lives. And I need – I need you to take this seriously.”

Jonny’s eyes were really bright, even in the dim light of the room. “I do. Patrick, I do, I promise.”

“Good.” Patrick swallowed. “I need you around, Jonny, okay? That, today – I was so fucking scared.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Jonny pressed a kiss to the back of Patrick’s hand. “You want to lie down with me?”

“The bed’s too narrow.”

“Whatever, we’ll make it work.”

“The nurses –”

“Everyone signed an NDA. Please? I was scared today, too.”

Patrick gave up. Jonny moved over, gingerly, and Patrick started to shift himself onto the bed. “Oh, wait,” he said, pausing. “You wanted ginger ale? I got you some in the cafeteria.”

“Yeah,” Jonny said. “That sounds good.”

Patrick poured him some in a plastic cup with a straw and then climbed back up on the bed. He managed to wedge himself onto the mattress not _too_ precariously, and Jonny leaned against his chest as he sipped at the ginger ale. Patrick would’ve normally stroked Jonny’s hair, but he found himself afraid to even touch his head, for fear he might make things worse. 

“So,” Jonny said quietly after a while. “Q and Dr. Terry.”

Patrick let a breath out. “Yeah.”

“They, um. They know?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “I was kind of...panicking.” Jonny squeezed his hand. “The doc and I didn’t talk about it, but Q and I did. He was really nice. Not surprised at all.”

“I don’t think we’re hiding it that well anymore. It’s an open secret on the team. Maybe even in the league.”

“Q said we had to tell Stan,” Patrick said. “Not today or even tomorrow. But soon. He doesn’t want to be keeping a secret from the rest of management.”

“Makes sense.” Jonny took another sip of his ginger ale. 

“You seem pretty calm about it,” Patrick remarked. “Considering you didn’t want to tell them before.”

“I feel like shit, my season’s probably a wash, and I totaled my car today.” Jonny raised his eyes to meet Patrick’s. “And it all could’ve been worse. I don’t like that you found out through Twitter.”

Patrick rested his forehead very gently against Jonny’s temple. “Me neither.”

“So maybe more people should know. Maybe a lot of people should know.”

Patrick blinked. “What are you saying? You want to come out?”

“No. I mean, yeah, but also...um. What do you think about getting married?”

Patrick blinked again. A lot. Jonny was watching him carefully. “It’s not legal?” Patrick tried.

“Not here,” Jonny said. “It is in Canada. And Illinois has civil unions, we could at least do that.”

Patrick didn’t know what to say. “Jonny,” he finally said. “Shit, you know I want to.”

Jonny bit his lip. “But?”

“But I think – I think we’re both kind of fucked up from today. And you’ve got a head injury. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to decide this right now.”

“I didn’t decide I want to marry you because I have a concussion,” Jonny said, frowning. “I’ve wanted to marry you since I was seventeen.”

Patrick couldn’t help smiling at that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonny said, eyes serious. “I mean, Jesus, Patrick, if you don’t know by now that you’re the love of my life, I don’t know what the fuck to say to you.”

Patrick kissed him, cupping Jonny’s jaw carefully in his palm. Then he kissed him again for good measure. “I know that,” he said. “And you’re mine, too. But that’s different from deciding to get married and come out and do all that stuff. That’s – that’s heavy. And I don’t think we should decide it right now.”

“I want to,” Jonny murmured. 

“Three days,” Patrick said. “In three days, if you want to ask me again, you should. But if not, that’s okay, too.”

He was even pretty sure it would be okay. After six years, Patrick thought they both took it as a given that they were in it to win it, ride or die, but this was the first time either of them had actually talked about _marriage_. Mostly Patrick forgot that it was even a possibility in Canada. If Jonny came to his senses once he was less concussed, Patrick wasn’t going to hold it against him. 

“You know,” Patrick said after a few seconds of silence, “you make it really hard to stay mad at you. I was planning to throttle you with my bare hands when I first showed up.”

“That was my plan all along.” Jonny sounded sleepy, and the cup of ginger ale was listing. Patrick took it away and set it on the bedside tray. “Propose so you wouldn’t strangle me.”

“Well,” Patrick said, “it worked.”

“Good,” Jonny said, snuggling closer. “Though I really am sorry.”

“I know,” Patrick said. “I might still yell at you later. But it’s okay for now. Go to sleep.”

***

Three days later, Jonny asked again. 

This time, Patrick said yes.

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Want a fic? Claim a [prompt](http://sahiya.dreamwidth.org/736914.html)!


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